Personal Revelations
by R4v3n Kn1ght
Summary: After one of his crew unexpectedly dies, James T. Kirk - with the assistance of Admiral Pike - has several realizations about himself and those under his command. Meanwhile, Leonard McCoy is left with keeping Spock company in Kirk's apartment, forcing them to talk and learn about each other in the process. Follows "Logic Bombs." Sixth in the "Metamorphosis to T'hy'la" Series.


**Author's Note:** _I do not own Star Trek, or any recognizable characters, locations, etc. They all belong to Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. My playing with the characters is not intended as disrespect for the characters or the actors that give them life. _

_This story is sixth in the "Metamorphosis to T'hy'la" Series, and directly follows "Logic Bombs." Certain points in this story may refer to those previously in the series. _

_I'm sorry my writing has been suffering lately. I hope to improve my update speed again, as things have calmed down a little in real life. Enjoy, everyone! ~ RK_

**Personal Revelations**

He groaned as he opened his eyes to the bright sunlight coming through the window, cursing the thoughtlessness of the person that decided it was for the best to dump him on the sofa that faced the window. He shielded his eyes from the light sluggishly as he struggled to wake up. What he didn't expect was the soft feminine giggle that greeted him for his efforts.

"Are you always this cute when you wake up?"

Then, he managed to squint in the direction of the voice.

"Ma'am?"

"Kirk, I told you last night. You can call me Annika."

He slowly swung his legs off of the couch and sat up, still facing the direct sunlight, and still squinting. "Uh…Annika, how did I…um…How am I here?"

The voice was heard before its owner was seen. "Stop torturing him, and take over! I can only get so much done in here in this restrictive chair!"

Annika laughed to herself. "As you can tell, physical therapy can't be finished quicker."

Kirk offered her a polite smile. The sound of the aforementioned restrictive chair was heard as it came into the room. "Come on, now. The only thing I was able to get going was put the eggs in the pan and stick it on the stove. After that, it's your problem."

The brunette woman rolled her eyes and waited until the chair stopped near the sofa on which Kirk sat, still blearily fighting the urge to go back to sleep. "Thank you for getting it to the halfway point."

Admiral Pike smiled softly at her. "Well, I figured that was usually how missions worked with us, why should this be any different?" He held out one of his hands toward her. She immediately set hers in his waiting upturned palm. Without taking his eyes from her, he brought their hands to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers. "Good morning, Number One."

Her expression was tender. "Good morning, Admiral."

He sighed. "I have to get used to that title now, just when I was finally getting used to captain." They exchanged a short laugh. Kirk found it a definite good sign that they could find some humor in Pike's injury from his time as Nero's captive aboard the Narada. He found himself smiling as he watched his mentor. "Go on, before the eggs burn, and all my hard work's for nothing."

Annika walked away from them to take over in the kitchen, knowing that he watched her leave. Then, Pike's expression grew serious as he looked to Kirk, but it lost none of its peacefulness. "And you, Kirk. You got here because we took you home."

Kirk shrugged. "Not that I'm not grateful, sir, but why not just send me back to my apartment?"

Pike tilted his head at the phrasing. It was still just an apartment. It wasn't home yet. Interesting. "Because your current roommates are going to have enough fun without you."

Kirk smiled. "Fun? Bones and Spock?"

"A drunk Spock. What did you give him last night?"

His smile was almost proud. "A Snuggler. You know, chocolate and—"

Pike shook his head. "You _do_ know what chocolate does to a Vulcan, don't you?" Kirk opened his mouth to reply but wasn't given the opportunity. "Well, if you didn't before, you do now."

"And you deprived me of watching Spock with the Vulcan-version of a hangover? And Bones dealing with it?"

Pike nodded. "Trust me, kid, you don't want to be dealing with what McCoy is dealing with right now."

~X~X~X~X~X~

It wasn't the sun shining on his face through the wall-sized window of the apartment's sitting room that woke him up. It wasn't even the movement caused by the breathing of the beagle that somehow managed to crawl up onto the sofa and squeeze himself between the back of it and his side that woke him up. It was the delicate tinkling sounds of glass objects, the sound of stirring rods, and liquid being poured. It was the muttered, "Damn it!" that gave him an idea of where he was.

He was with Doctor McCoy.

Spock slowly opened his eyes, his inner eyelid working to protect him from the sunlight. That was odd. The Earth's sun wasn't any brighter today than it was previously, but his biology thought otherwise apparently. He began to take stock of his body and tried to remember the previous night. For some reason he was having difficulty. Perhaps he had not meditated last night. He sat up and instantly became aware of an increased dizziness and pounding in his head. The beagle – he couldn't even remember this dog's name! – shifted its head and groaned. Spock understood the need to groan. He felt absolutely wretched.

Then, there was a far too pleasant _ding_ from the other room. He remembered that was some sort of signal activated by one of the devices in the kitchen when something was complete. The little high-pitched glass noises continued. Spock could deal with that background noise. He closed his eyes.

_Ding!_

His eyes flew open again. This would not do. He was in pain. Certainly Doctor McCoy, if anyone, would feel a little sympathy towards the suffering!

With an uncharacteristic groan, Spock eased himself off of the sofa. His effort not to jostle the dog was in vain. It woke up and then went immediately into a hyper state. Spock's hand was suddenly covered by dog saliva and was scraped on by its tongue. The Vulcan grimaced. He could not handle that today. Not now.

Usually, he would greet the dog – ah, yes, Planchet! – with a soft scratch behind the dog's ear. But that action usually resulted in the enthusiastic dog following him throughout the apartment for the rest of the day. Spock was in no condition to handle a hyper dog, getting drooled on, being followed around, and then be a living pillow for the creature whenever he put himself in a stationary position. No. Not right now.

Spock forced himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his head, his unsteadiness, and his sudden urge to vomit. He grabbed onto the back of the sofa for a little rarely required stability before he headed towards the direction he was sure led to the kitchen. When something bashed up against his leg, he looked down.

It was Planchet.

Spock stared at the big-eyed canine for far longer than normal before he changed his intended course. He diverted to the left. As he knew he would, Planchet was following him. Spock went directly to the door ahead – the guest room. The door activated and Planchet gave a happy yip bounding into the room. Spock wasted no time and turned around away from the door, heading back to the kitchen. The door closed as he walked away, leaving his canine shadow locked in the room.

Spock finally reached the kitchen to find that it was no longer a kitchen at all! "Doctor, I was under the impression that a kitchen was for the preparation of sustenance and not to be used for a science lab."

~X~X~X~X~X~

Leonard McCoy couldn't stand it anymore.

Sure he was left to babysit Spock as Jim left him sipping water through a chewed up straw at Sulu's birthday party. But he doubted that even Jim would be this mean. To leave him to not only keep Spock cut off from chocolate for the rest of the night, but then to deal with him trying to leave the place – which the Vulcan enthusiastically and loudly refused to do until Miss Ah-lam herself assisted Leonard in half-dragging, half-carrying Spock to a waiting air-car, which had to be slowed to a crawling pace because the motion was making the drunk Vulcan "uneasy." Once they arrived back at Jim's place, it was up to Leonard to struggle to get Spock out of the car, and the seemingly endless journey to the doorway, followed by the near death experience of dragging the Vulcan to the sofa, where he dumped him, only remembering to tuck a pillow under his drunk head an hour later! He'd spent that hour staring at the door to the apartment, just waiting for Jim to saunter into the place, and planning ways he could exact his revenge on his best friend.

Only Jim never came back.

He'd been so lost in a fantasy-scenario involving how to put his friend's arrogance in a coma and what type of person he'd be without that arrogant flair, when his communicator went off! He'd jumped about a foot from the chair as he scrambled for it. It was Annika Hadley, Pike's former first officer. He remembered her from the party. Apparently, they had Jim in their home. Leonard was decidedly unhappy about this.

He'd looked to the sofa then to see the awkward position in which he'd hauled Spock onto it, and realized he needed a pillow. He'd done his best to tuck the Vulcan in, but refused to tell anyone that he did it. Even if they asked. Even if there was some obscure security feed on it. He'd deny it wholeheartedly. No one would believe it anyway that Leonard McCoy had tucked anyone into bed, nevermind a Vulcan, and a drunk one at that!

Then realization had hit. Spock was drunk! Drunks typically had hangovers! What would a hungover Vulcan be like?

He had to know.

Of course, the information he found on Vulcan inebriation was slim at best. He was growing more and more convinced that it was up to him to singlehandedly let the Federation know anything medically relevant about Vulcans since they obviously weren't the type to open up about anything – even things that could save their lives! He couldn't find anything on how to cure a Vulcan hangover.

This meant it was time to guess.

He went right to his supply of hypos and meds he usually kept set aside for Jim. Unfortunately, he hadn't had time recently to restock some things. He should really do that before Jim died of something stupid like a bee sting because he didn't restock the bee sting hypo! He had one hypo left for his Jim Detox Cocktail. Well, only one sample to which he can compare. He hoped he was that good.

So, he'd quickly – and very quietly – set up a makeshift lab on the kitchen food prep island. He was surprised that Jim still had most of his spare equipment here, honestly, and exactly where Leonard had left it. That went to show how much the kid cleaned. Some things never changed.

He took into account Vulcan physiology, biology, and items among the things that made Spock special. The room for error, however, was the pesky human genetics.

By the time four o'clock in the morning came around, McCoy realized that he was not going to make it without a little something to eat. And it was times like this that he cursed Jim's fixation on antiques. A replicator would be so much easier! No, not Jim. He needed to cook it all himself.

But, he did have a coffee machine! He brewed the darkest, most potent roast he could find. Personally, he hated the weird flavors that Jim managed to get. Leonard liked the good, old-fashioned, perfectly-fine-flavorless, not-twenty-steps-to-make-it black coffee!

He ended up becoming so focused on what he was doing that he didn't even realize that his coffee was sitting next to a chemical typically used in concoctions to treat feverish symptoms. He never mistook one for the other.

By the time the sun was well-risen and his impromptu cure was in its final stages, Leonard had somehow managed to consume an unhealthy amount of coffee, started a quick breakfast for himself, and even found some honest-to-goodness grits in Jim's pantry. _Ding._ And now they were finally done!

With the giddy excitement he rarely displayed, he was about to fetch his cooked breakfast when another alarm went off. _Ding! _Ah, the cure for Vulcan Hangover Prototype was finished.

He watched as Spock rose unsteadily from the sofa, then slowly head his way. Leonard went for his grits, but when he turned back around, Spock had seemed to go somewhere else. Soon enough, though, he appeared.

And he looked less than amused. "Doctor, I was under the impression that a kitchen was for the preparation of sustenance and not to be used for a science lab."

He lifted up his bowl of grits so Spock could see. "And yet I was able to cook myself breakfast."

"If you required all of this equipment in order to produce a bowl of nourishment, which seems to lack anything beneficial, and resembles curdled milk, you seem to have wasted your efforts."

McCoy just chuckled to himself around another spoonful. "Aren't you just the shining example of chipper after a hard night chocolate-ing?" He stalked toward the Vulcan, knowing the alien was likely to be in no mood to physically fight. He would relish this opportunity while he could. "I'll have you know, Spock, that this bowl of curdled milk is actually called grits, and it's the South's gift to breakfast cuisine everywhere." He ate another spoonful right in Spock's face to drive his point home. "You wanna try it?"

Spock's gaze flicked to the grits for an instant before he could not contain the grimace. "Negative."

His smile was triumphant. "I thought not." He went back to his workstation, put down his grits and picked up a hypo, getting it ready with his newest creation. "Didn't feel up to sharing anyway."

"Doctor, I am sure you are aware that it is not advised to eat anything while working in a scientific environment."

McCoy didn't even look at him. He was busy with the hypo. "Must be why you're so damn skinny."

Spock ignored the comment. "You could mistake your meal for a part of your experiment therefore causing your results to be compromised."

McCoy studied the now filled hypo carefully. "I repeat: chipper."

"I must insist that you either cease working on your project in order to finish the consumption of your meal or the opposite scenario. That you conclude your scientific research and delay your meal until your results are satisfactory to you."

This time, the human looked at him. "You know what would be satisfactory, Spock? If you would occupy yourself somewhere else and leave me alone. I'll conduct whatever experiments I like, however I like them, and without your input." He went right up to Spock. "You'd think a drunk Vulcan would show a little more gratitude to the person that had to haul his ass back to this apartment, but I suppose gratitude is something you just don't do, do you?"

Even in his compromised state, Spock was enough aware to realize that the doctor was angry with him for something. He wasn't sure what to do to lessen that anger. "I—"

But Leonard wasn't going to give up just yet. "Just grab a piece of fruit or something over there. Left out an apple for you."

Spock's gaze drifted to the sliced apple sitting on the plate near the sink. "I—" He swallowed, trying to do what he knew the human would expect. "Thank you, doctor."

McCoy just growled as he turned back toward his workstation. "Maybe you'll be a little more pleasant with something in that stomach of yours."

Spock hung his head and resignedly went to the counter for the prepared apple. What he didn't expect was the hiss of a hypo being released into his neck. He only had enough time to look at McCoy in shock – barely realizing that the doctor did not look as victorious as he'd expected – before he lost consciousness.

~X~X~X~X~X~

"Why did you bring me here? And don't say it's because Bones would have his hands full with a drunken Spock."

Pike sighed and set down his coffee. He was stalling, Kirk realized. He never knew Pike to stall about anything. "Jim, listen. I knew you would need to talk to someone after last night."

Kirk suddenly remembered something very important from last night.

"_There was…an…There was an accident, sir." _

_Jim compulsively reached for the back of the chair. He turned away from everyone gathered. He didn't want them to see his worry which he knew was clearly on his face. But he knew that everyone's attention was riveted to him. He could feel their stares, hear it in their silence. "Is anyone hurt?" _

"_It's Keenser…He's—" The Scotsman's voice hitched. _

"_Scotty…" _

"_Keenser's dead, sir." _

_Jim fell into his chair, the silence of the room suffocating him. _

He didn't hear anything after that. He didn't see anything. He didn't even remember when his communicator was taken from his hand by someone or what they said.

But Admiral Pike did.

_He saw Kirk collapse into the chair, and knew the young man was in shock. "Number One, get him out of here. Bring him home. He hasn't dealt with this situation yet. I'll handle everything here and meet you home." _

_After years of being Christopher Pike's executive officer, Annika was accustomed to him in business mode as opposed to the times it was just the two of them. She stood immediately and went directly to Kirk. She took his communicator from him. "Lieutenant Commander Scott, this is Commander Hadley. The incident has been noted and support and medical teams are being arranged and will be on their way to you. Please stand by for further communication." Then, she hesitated a moment. "I'm sorry for your loss." _

_The reply was choked. "Thank you, Commander. Scott…Scott out." _

_Annika looked down at Kirk. He had yet to move. "Come on, Captain." She thought he might respond better to the formality. But he shook his head. "Jim, come with me." She took hold of his arm and coaxed him to his feet. "Come on, time to go get you home." He didn't even respond to her. He simply followed where she led him. _

_Meanwhile, Admiral Pike signaled quickly for several others to come to him. They obeyed their former captain immediately and went to him. He was concise. _

"_Doctor McCoy, you take Spock back to your apartment. Lieutenant Sulu, I apologize. But your celebration has to end a little early. I know you understand. That being the case, have all unpaid items billed to my home console. I'll take care of it. Lieutenant Uhura, your shore leave is going to be briefly interrupted. I want you to gather the facts of what happened on that ship. Report back to Captain Kirk and me within thirty-six hours with a full account. And be sure that any crew members or personnel that require counseling have it arranged." The three of them nodded in understanding of their orders. "Dismissed." _

_He watched as so many things happened at once. He watched as Annika bodily led Kirk from the restaurant. He watched McCoy trying to be patient as Spock refused to leave until he finished his drink. He watched Uhura gather her coat and begin speaking into her communicator in one graceful movement, all as she left the building. He watched as everyone was struggling to stay pleasant as they said their goodbyes to each other. _

_With a sigh, Admiral Pike activated his chair and began towards the exit. It was then that he caught sight of Pavel Chekov assisting his petite girlfriend into an air car. The very young man turned to him. "Admiral," he said, then hesitated. "Do you have a way home?" _

_He smiled at this brilliant Russian. "Is that an offer for transport?" _

_Chekov tried to smile, but it only made him look sad. "I will detour to your home. Company is always better than being alone, yes?" _

_Pike had to agree. _

Kirk nodded seriously. "I—I don't know why this is harder than others."

"I do." Kirk looked directly at him. "It's because you feel liable." Kirk shook his head, as though trying to solve a difficult problem. "And if you don't feel liable, it's probably that you feel like you should be held liable for it. I'm right, aren't I?" The expression that Kirk shot him confirmed it. "That will never go away, not with time, not with experience, never."

They stared at each other, both unwilling to be the first to look away, both unwilling to end their study of the other man. Finally, Kirk asked, "Do you remember the first crewman under your command that died?"

Pike maintained his gaze on his protégé. "Yes, and it was just as much of a waste as Keenser's death." He nodded as he recalled the incident. "He was a botanist on his first away mission. He was brilliant in the labs, and a bright kid. Plants were his whole life. But he was…excitable when he encountered something new." His expression changed. Kirk saw the difference and read it for what it was. Pain. "They were on the planet for less than ten minutes and I got the call from Sickbay. Puri told me that he was poisoned and the toxin moved faster than they could even really move him." Kirk swallowed hard. "Kid was dead on the transporter pad. All because he didn't take a reading on the damn flower before he touched it." Pike shook his head sharply, like he was still denying the incident years later. "A botanist killed by a flower."

They were quiet for a moment, Pike in recollection, Kirk in mournful acknowledgment. "Admiral, there is a notable difference between him and Keenser, though." Pike looked at the younger man, his mind back in the present. "You were on duty when it happened. Everything was done right, and in the right order, and you were _there_."

Pike was beginning to understand Kirk's difficulty. "Son, don't start to think—"

But Kirk was no longer hearing his mentor. "I wasn't there with them. I was on Earth, at a party, drinking. I was having a good night with friends and colleagues while someone on my ship _died._"

Pike reached out and gripped the man's upper arm tightly, the contact forcing him out of his spiraling mind and focusing on his superior officer. "Jim, they'll still die when you aren't having a good time. They can die when you're enjoying your life, when you're hating life, exercising, sleeping, making love, eating dinner. Anyone can die at any time for any reason, Kirk." The young man gasped as though the words physically struck him. "What's your solution to that? Never enjoy doing any of those things again? Because you can't do that. You can't just always be on duty waiting for the next piece of bad news, for someone to tell you that someone on your ship is dead. That is a type of Kobayashi Maru you have to face as captain, son. You can't wait for death and continue to live. You can't do both."

Kirk made an odd sound through his nose as he looked away. "Spock would say that it's illogical to try."

Pike's grip on Kirk eased. "And he'd be right." He sighed as he saw the helplessness on Kirk's face. "Jim, no matter what you do to protect them, your crew will get hurt. Some will die. Some of them, they just…Some just disappear by a freak accident or anything and you may never know what happened to them. You might even have to pick which crew member is going to die. But—" He knew that Kirk needed encouragement, but that the normal method of encouragement did the exact opposite for Kirk. He suddenly thought of their meeting in the Riverside, Iowa bar. Kirk responded to a challenge. "You can't let that possibility make you question whether or not you should be in that center seat." Just as he did in that darkened bar, he fixed his gaze firmly on the young man in front of him. "You wanted that chair, Captain. Now earn it. Death comes with that title. Accept them both."

What Pike did not expect was for Kirk to retreat this time. Before he even realized he'd done it, James Kirk had risen to his feet and fled to the outdoors and onto the balcony.

Pike touched the control pad of the chair, intending to go after him, but he was halted by Annika. "Let me, Chris." He sighed. "Go on," she said as she feebly gestured toward their kitchen. "Make sure you have some breakfast before you get ready for physical therapy." She echoed his sigh. "I'll try to talk to him."

He nodded, but said nothing as he guided his chair in the opposite direction of Kirk. Annika stood watching the young captain for a long moment before she took a deep breath and joined him. He spoke first.

"I should check in with Scotty."

"And say what?"

Kirk's head shot up and his surprised expression let her know he had not been expecting her. He recovered fairly quickly. "That I'm sorry that—"

Annika shook her head and interrupted him. "There's nothing you can say to him yet. You haven't heard from your communications officer, yet, so any relevant details about the incident you still don't know. At this point, right now, Lieutenant Commander Scott most likely has more facts about the situation than you do. And the most unhelpful thing for you is to offer empty condolences."

Kirk looked confused. "They wouldn't be empty, they'd be—"

"Captain," she said the title deliberately. "Without anything to offer your grieving crewmember, anything you have to say is empty. If you speak to anyone who witnessed or was aboard that ship at the time of the accident before you have a way to help them, or to address the problem, to fix the damage, or in any way handle the aftermath in a constructive manner—" Annika sighed softly. "It will only show your crew that you are seeking comfort from those that you should be comforting yourself. You are their leader, and you have to be their strength now. They support you in all of your decisions, but you must support them in times like this."

"So I just—" Kirk choked on his voice. "I just do nothing? I just say nothing?"

Annika tried to offer a gentle and encouraging smile. "What you need to do right now is think about what it is about _this_ accident that is bothering you so much." She turned away from him to walk back into the house. "Take all the time you need, Jim. You're welcome here as long as you wish."

His gaze was lowered. "Thank you," he replied quietly. A moment later, he heard Annika and Pike leave. It was even longer before he raised his eyes and looked over the balcony. There were people coming and going all around in his vision, from the aimlessly wandering to the purposefully walking.

And then realization struck him.

~X~X~X~X~X~

He was on the sofa once again, but this time the sun was blocked from his face. He opened his eyes to find out what was between him and the window. It was the silhouetted form of Doctor McCoy. And a moment after he realized this, the shadowy man spoke as loudly as he could but without it being a shout. "Good afternoon, you lazy hobgoblin."

Spock glared at McCoy. "I object , doctor. I am not lazy."

"But you don't object to me calling you 'hobgoblin'?"

Spock would have pouted were he human. "I do object to the term, but considering my attempts in persuading you to cease addressing me as such, I chose to object to the term that would have the higher likelihood of alteration in your vernacular."

The human raised a glass to his mouth and sipped slowly and deliberately. "Well, well, well. Someone's feeling better, aren't they?"

Spock could not help but tilt his head questioningly. Until he'd said it, he hadn't realized that his head was no longer throbbing and his center of balance had returned. He was once again fully functional. "What mixture did your hypospray contain?"

The doctor sipped his lemon water again as slowly as the first time. "A detox agent that I modified from the one I keep on reserve for Jim's bad nights." He offered a half-smile. "Modified for your…unique physiology, of course."

The Vulcan was not amused. "I could report your method of treatment to Starfleet citing harassment and assault on a fellow—"

"Shut up, Spock!" He obeyed the commanding tone instantly. "If you did that, which I doubt you will, I could easily report you for animal cruelty." He pointed an accusatory finger at the Vulcan. "And if you think I don't have the evidence, you can just answer to that pup you locked into my room and didn't tell me about. Know when I found him? When I went in there to go and shower, only to discover that the poor critter decided it had nowhere else to do its business but right next to the door that I assume you closed in his face." He gave Spock a look of disapproval that would rival the many looks that Sarek had given him in his lifetime. "And even you should know you can't lock a dog up in a room without somewhere to relieve itself for an extended period of time."

Spock opened his mouth to reply, about to mention that he did not anticipate being forced into unconsciousness which would therefore make it the doctor's fault that the dog had been locked in the room for the so-called extended period of time, but McCoy continued. "Don't worry; I took care of it and went for a walk with that little menace." Then, he scowled into his water. "For a little guy, he's got some energy. Damn near dragged me down the street."

While Spock would have found the sight of a little energetic beagle dragging McCoy down the street in his happiness in being outside, he did not dare to voice it aloud. Instead, he focused on a need that he had just noticed. He was ravenously hungry. "Doctor, what have you prepared for breakfast?"

McCoy nearly choked on his water. "I'm a doctor, not a nurse, Spock. I examine you, I put you back together, I cure you, and sometimes I can't save you. But I do not feed you. That's what someone like Chapel's for."

Spock understood what McCoy meant in terms of the man's professional life, but not in their current situation. "My question remains, doctor. What have you prepared for breakfast?"

The look he received at the repeated question was calculating. "What makes you think I _would_ prepare something for you for breakfast?"

Spock did not hesitate. "It is customary—"

McCoy tried to stop him. "Customary for who? Me? You? Jim? Humans? Vulcans? What?" But Spock did not even pause for a moment.

"—for the individual whose home is occupied by guests to provide for that guest's comforts and needs. As such, the preparation and offering of meals is high on the priorities that the hosting individual should guarantee to his or her guest. And unless your apple was simply a…trick to lure me into the belief that you had assumed the duties of host in the Captain's absence that you had indeed prepared a meal for me."

McCoy was silent as he stared at Spock. "That sounds like a Vulcan thing."

"If you are attempting to say the word 'custom' then you are correct. However, I believe it is a human custom to make guests feel welcome in their homes, which includes the participation in their guest's traditions and customs in order to ensure that comfort and gesture of welcome."

McCoy slowly shook his head. "Except this isn't my home, Spock. It's Jim's."

Spock wanted to object to that claim. Several items belonging to the doctor were permanently in this apartment. He could not have possibly traveled with them, or relocated them with each visit to Kirk. The only answer was that many of Leonard McCoy's belongings – for lack of a better term – lived in Kirk's home. Therefore, this apartment served as both Kirk's and McCoy's home. While he was trying to form an argument that the doctor would not immediately find offensive and reply to with hostility, the human was speaking.

"Just because Jim decides to spoil you doesn't mean I have any plans to do it, too. As I said, I'm not a nurse. I'm also not a servant, nor a maid. I won't do your laundry, or pick up after you, or cook your food. I don't do it for Jim, and that little spazz is my best friend in the universe, so – no offense, Spock – but I'm not about to do anything for you that I wouldn't do for him."

But Spock remembered several occasions in which McCoy had prepared at least half of the breakfast items alongside of Kirk. Clearly, the older man made himself quite comfortable in Kirk's house. And contrary to his claim, he did indeed cook for his younger friend. But that was not the argument at the moment. The matter open for discussion currently was why the doctor did not extend this courtesy to Spock himself. He found himself thinking aloud. "Then your apple was a cruel trick against me. I should have expected such a thing from you as well."

Suddenly, the doctor's expression changed. Spock realized that he must have made his own feelings clear in an expression of his own. "What are you saying exactly by 'as well'?" Spock met his eyes quickly. "Did something like that happen before? And with whom?"

McCoy waited for several minutes before realizing that the Vulcan was not going to answer that. "Was it Uhura?" The very tiny flinch confirmed it. "I guess she never cooked for you either, huh? Did she know that was a Vulcan custom?"

Spock shook his head sharply. "We have never cohabitated during our relationship."

"That wasn't the question."

Spock exhaled slowly, but the human knew it for what it was. A sigh. "She did know of that customary practice, but she chose to ignore it. However, when she would have reason to come to my residence, I would always prepare sustenance for her as was the customary courtesy with which I was raised."

McCoy barely was listening to where that relationship went wrong. He was trying to get to Spock's real concern. "Who else has actually done what Vulcan custom dictated regarding houseguests?"

Spock's breath hitched for a moment. "There has only been my mother."

"Well, I sure hope she knew that custom being married to a Vulcan. But I'm talking about someone _not_ married to a Vulcan. Anyone who shouldn't know that but took the time _to learn_ it."

Spock realized why they were having this conversation quite suddenly. The realization struck him so strongly that it robbed him of his breath. "The only individual that fits your parameters is—"

McCoy saw that Spock wanted him to name their mutual friend, but he wanted to see exactly what name the Vulcan would say. He' always said his title, his last name, but he would not usually – if ever – say—

"Jim."

There it was, the very interesting fact to which they'd come. "Not Uhura."

"Affirmative," Spock confirmed. "Not Nyota."

McCoy watched in genuine interest as the realization fully registered in Spock. He actually saw what Jim saw – the alien's emotions clearly in his facial expression. Surprise, wonder, and just a hint of joy – but he knew the Vulcan would simply call it 'fascination.' And for the first time when presented the opportunity, Leonard McCoy did not rub Spock's face in one of his few victories. He took mercy on him.

He stood from the chair as he finished his lemon water. "Well, Spock, I think there's only one thing to do." Spock looked at him in curiosity and stunned wonder. McCoy offered him a rare and friendly smile. "Time to introduce you to Jim's kitchen good and proper."

McCoy didn't even need to look back to know that Spock was eagerly following him.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Admiral Christopher Pike knew he was making remarkable progress in his therapy sessions that would allow him the full use of his legs again, but the first hour after each session found him withdrawn and silently frustrated. He refused to let that frustration outwardly show to Annika. Not to his strength, his stability. He would not risk pushing her away from him by his temperamental frustration and anger and impatience.

But that didn't mean he couldn't come out onto the balcony and stare at the civilians walking below him, being simultaneously jealous of them for taking their legs for granted, and yet also fiercely determined to join them sooner than his doctors were telling him he would. In his home was the one person who constantly defied the established odds. Perhaps where Annika was his foundation, Kirk could serve as his inspiration.

Just as a small smile grew on his expression at the thought, he became aware of Annika's presence on the balcony. He saw her offered ice tea before he saw her. His expression turned tenderly affectionate as he accepted the drink. "You usually let me stay out here until I'm ready to come back inside on my own."

"Well, usually Jim Kirk isn't our house guest."

Christopher chuckled into the glass as he raised it to his lips for a sip. "Mmm," he hummed appreciatively. "This is my favorite. Thank you." He watched the smile light her face before he addressed her concern. "How is he?"

Annika shook her head. "I have no idea. He's bent over something in your office working like a man obsessed." She gave him a pointed look. "I can only guess where he picked that up from."

He did not take her bait. "What's he doing?"

"I asked him, but he seemed so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't even answer when I tried talking to him. Maybe if—"

He nodded in understanding. "I'll give it a try." She simply stepped aside to let him return into the house. He was a man on a mission, and she would never try to hinder or stop him. She went inside after him, and let the door to the balcony slide shut behind her.

Meanwhile, Christopher Pike looked in on his protégé from the open archway to his office. The younger man was working like a cadet desperate to finish an assignment moments before the deadline hit. Then, he studied him. For the boy that deadline had already come and gone, and now he was frantic to make up for what he likely assumed was a critical failing on his part. Pike couldn't help but still think of Jim Kirk as a boy in many ways. He was untried. He was certainly younger than any other captain so far in Starfleet's history. He was impulsive. He didn't obey the rules. Sometimes new rules were put into creation because of the stunts he'd pulled. Pike smiled as he thought of why all of these things didn't really matter…at least to him.

James T. Kirk cared deeply for everyone under his command. It was simultaneously his best and worst quality.

Pike brought his chair up beside Kirk's, observing what the younger man was working on with so much focus. He knew that his arrival was not in the least bit distracting to Kirk by the way his attention and focused energy did not even falter for a moment. He moved from one padd to another, his frown deepening with each search he made and his sigh grew longer with each lack of desired results. Pike reached out and put his hand on the boy's forearm. "Need any help, son?"

The touch seemed almost to startle Kirk. He recovered quickly enough, before a small smile began to spread on his face. "You'd think I'd be used to people sneaking up on me."

Pike nodded in understanding. "Let me guess: Spock?"

Kirk's head bobbed as he chuckled to himself. "Yeah, all the time. He creeps up on me and scares me all the time." He looked at his mentor with a mischievous expression. "I think he likes to do it deep down. Like how he amuses himself."

The older man shook his head, trying to disguise his agreement. "Don't say that to his face. He'll deny his need for amusement until he's green in the face."

"Because Vulcans don't need to be entertained like the lowly humans he serves with, right?"

The two men shared a quiet laugh for a moment. Soon enough though the mood dwindled and Kirk began to withdraw, thinking again on his problem. Pike's own grin disappeared as he recognized the shift in the younger man. The ice had been broken. It was time to work.

"Lot of things you're trying to work on at once, Kirk. Want a hand?"

Kirk stared at his pile of padds scattered around Pike's desk for a moment, before he sighed and looked at his mentor. "Sure." He slid one of the padds closer to Pike. "I've been trying to find a sort of form that people could do that is about themselves, you know?"

Pike was a little confused. "As in those on your ship?" Kirk nodded energetically. Pike continued after he brought up the standard documentation that Kirk should have easily been able to find by that point in his work. "Well, there's this form here that details things like—"

Kirk didn't even look at it. "Name, rank, identification number, commendations, and that person's acquired skills set and training. Thanks, but no thanks. That isn't what I'm after."

His brows furrowed as he tried to divine exactly what it was that Kirk was searching for. In an effort to possibly better understand, Pike called up the personnel file on the young captain's closest friend. "Alright, looking at Doctor McCoy's file, I want you to tell me what you don't like about it."

Kirk glared at Pike and snatched the file from him. His piercing blue eyes scanned it over with a speed that would give a certain half-Vulcan competition before he looked back to Pike. "The problem is that there's nothing here. It's just a list of impersonal accomplishments, and rank, and where he studied and how long that lasted. There's nothing personal in there. That's the problem." Pike stayed silent. He knew a string of sentences like that from Kirk was really just his introduction. He might finally get somewhere. Kirk sighed. "I was outside today, looking around at everyone going by, you know, minding their own business." Pike nodded. He'd done just that earlier. "And I realized that I didn't know a single one of them. I didn't know who they were, or really recognize anyone." Pike watched as Kirk seemed to no longer see his surroundings. "And it's like that on the ship sometimes. When…when others – I mean, at least there haven't been all that many yet, but – when they died and I had to write their notices to their families and the memo to Fleet, I…I realized I had no idea who they were as people. I only knew what their file said. Just whether they were 'ensign' or 'lieutenant' or whatever…and if they'd had any commendations, or honors awarded. I only knew their credentials on their files, but…I knew _nothing_ about _them_."

Pike was beginning to understand Kirk's mission now. "Jim—"

Kirk seemed not to hear him. It all rushed out of his mind and his mouth. "I reread those notices. All of them. And they were the coldest things I'd ever written about another person. I just recited the facts and that was it." He drew in a breath that could almost be considered a gasp. The exhale was very close to a sob. "And now with Keenser…someone I know personally…it's so different. I was able to really talk _about_ him, not just what he'd done during his service to Starfleet. I thought writing his memo would be easier since I knew him, that it would just come out smoother. But it…it didn't. It was one of the hardest I had to draft." Kirk shook his head. "I had to write it three times. It wasn't worded right, it was too unfeeling in one section…because it – because losing Keenser like that—"

"It hurt more than the others."

Kirk whipped his head to face Pike as though surprised the other man was there. "Yeah, it hurt. And when I realized that it was because I actually knew him, I just…I knew what I had to do."

Pike shook his head. He did not like the sound of where this was going. "Kirk, listen to me—"

"I want to know everyone on my crew. I need to know all of them, personally not just their files."

And then Pike sighed. "Jim, that's admirable of you, but it's not a good – no, that's the wrong word. It's not a healthy idea."

But Kirk's lips had thinned stubbornly. "But it's the right one."

"No, it's not. In theory, yes. But in practicality, knowing everyone like that on your ship will compromise you as their captain." He saw Kirk open his mouth to combat him in that statement, but Pike didn't give him the chance. "If you do that, you'll start to second guess yourself, you'll have a much more difficult time figuring out landing party members, and who to send somewhere, who to assist somewhere else. And then—"

Kirk was facing him fully now, and his resolve was not weakening, it was strengthening. "But that's just it. It shouldn't be easy. You told me yourself that being a captain isn't supposed to be something easy—"

"—whenever someone on that ship dies you will be haunted by it, and you'll torture yourself by replaying their death over and over again, wondering if you should have sent someone else, wondering if you could have saved them—"

"It should haunt me, Chris!" Kirk bellowed. "Every single person's death under my command should hurt as much as Keenser's does. I should know everyone on that ship, and not just their name, or their rank, or their field of expertise. I should know that crew member as a _person._ And if one of them dies on a mission, then it should hurt me. I should feel guilty for sending them to die. I should carry that pain with me for the rest of my commission." He unsuccessfully aborted his sob. "That pain is what will shape me into the captain I should be. If I can't regret that someone died under my command, whether it's an away mission gone wrong or some stupid freak accident, what kind of captain would that be? I don't think he'd be very a good one. So, I need that pain. This position shouldn't be easy; it should be hard. If it were easy, there'd be a lot more captains in this place."

Pike watched as Kirk folded his arms on the desk, mindless of the padds scattered on it, and rested his forehead on his arms. The young man deflated before his eyes. The point had been made and the fight was now leaving him. Pike didn't know what to say to him. In the end, he didn't have to say anything.

Kirk's muffled voice reached his ears well enough. "You must have known so many people that died when we all went to help Vulcan." It was a long pause before he raised his head, running his hand over his face, leaving it covering his mouth for a moment. Then, he looked at Admiral Pike, the strain clearly in his eyes. "How are you okay?"

Where he had no idea what to say to Kirk a minute ago, Pike already knew what to say at that moment. He fixed his gaze on Kirk's, knowing that he would draw strength and fortitude from him through the honesty he knew he was demonstrating in his eyes alone. "Because I have to be, son."

~X~X~X~X~X~

"Are you certain that our dishes will combine to create a palatable meal?"

McCoy sighed for what had to have been the fiftieth time since he asked if Spock would mind 'whipping up a salad' for dinner. The first sigh came almost immediately after he'd asked that question as Spock declared with a haughty raised eyebrow, "One cannot whip salad into existence." Since then, the sighs came often. How the Vulcan genius was able to simultaneously calculate stupidly complex equations while he was repairing a malfunctioning tri-corder as he was verbally instructing Scotty how not to burn his hands while rewiring the replicators in the officer's mess…but he couldn't figure out if the green beans for his salad were the 'required tenderness as dictated by the recipe preparation instructions' McCoy would never be able to understand. Between his frustration at Spock's seeming ineptitude in the culinary arts and his own desire to make the best damn jambalaya the Vulcan had ever tasted, it was turning into a rough night. He'd even done his best to find a decent vegetarian version of the dish – and he did not like that idea at all. Jambalaya should have shrimp or chicken or something in there. But there was no way he was about to leave Spock to eat his own pathetic cooking without a guarantee of something decent.

"No, Spock. I'm not certain your green bean salad will go with my dinner, and you know what?" McCoy put their bowls of his stupendously delicious-smelling jambalaya down on the table, seating himself with the intention of enjoying his meal to his fullest ability. "I don't care if they go together. I just know that I'm hungry, and that I'm sick and tired of you bitching that the recipe for your damn salad wasn't as precisely worded as you would've liked it. And—" He shoveled in his first mouthful, but it did not prevent him from speaking. "—no one cares how big the tomato wedges are. They just care that they're wedge-shaped." He swallowed.

Spock gingerly set the small plate of salad he'd prepared for McCoy as close to the irritable doctor as he dared. He lowered himself into his seat, feeling like he used to when he was a child being scolded for an inadequacy by his father. He did not like this rant the doctor was carrying on. Not knowing what to say, he simply picked up his fork and quietly speared his first green bean of his salad.

"And if we'd noticed that we needed bread for the thing as a side item, we would've gotten it when we picked up that god-awful feta cheese for the salad! But we didn't, so we don't have bread." McCoy, seemingly trying to emphasize the lack of need for the bread, stabbed his fork randomly into the salad on his plate, and began to chew it without once looking at his utensil. "We don't even need the bread, so the only one who cares about it not being here is you, Spock!"

Spock continued to deliberately spear his vegetables and slowly chew them ten times before he would eat the next forkful. He needed to stay calm. He knew the doctor was aggravated with him. From past experience with the man, he also knew that he had to let him finish his – most of the time – nonsensical tirade before he would be permitted to speak a complete sentence. He looked down at the food the doctor had prepared as he counted out the tenth time he'd chewed his current mouthful of green beans and radish. He was contemplating whether or not he should sample the man's cooking before or after he finished his salad when he heard the man's compliment.

"—better than I thought it'd be."

They made eye contact across the table. Spock was almost uncertain as to whether he'd heard him correctly or not. He did not reach his conclusion quickly enough for the human. "You know, when people give you a compliment, it's considered polite to say 'thank you.'"

Spock blinked as he swallowed his food. "Vulcans do not find it necessary to thank one another."

McCoy gave him a look that reminded Spock of their captain. "Then how come you people have a couple words that mean 'thank you'?"

Spock had to admit a certain level of defeat. "Thank you, doctor, for your compliment."

McCoy motioned with his fork towards Spock's bowl of jambalaya. The Vulcan took the hint and sampled it, allowing the food to sit in his mouth for a moment, taking in the flavor. Soon enough he got it down his throat. He was pleasantly surprised. "Your jamabalaya is pleasing to consume."

The human made a point of eating another bite of Spock's salad before he replied. "Glad you like it."

Their conversation was abruptly halted. Neither of them were quite sure what to say to each other now that the immediate topic had been addressed. So they settled on quietly eating their jointly prepared meal. Several minutes later, Spock finally came up with a topic that both of them could discuss. "Has the captain informed you of his whereabouts?"

"Well, I assume he's still with Pike. It's not like he has a whole troupe of friends that he can go and annoy."

Perhaps discussing James T. Kirk was a mistake. Spock drew his eyebrows together. "I did not ask if he had other acquaintances with whom he could visit. I simply asked—"

"—if he was still at Pike's, I know. I would guess he's still there. The admiral's as close to a father to him as anyone can be."

Spock nodded in agreement. "That is understandable considering that his father perished on the date of his birth."

"That's not the point. The point is that Jim probably needed some advice. And not only is Pike the best person he can go to for advice on being the perfect captain, but he's also the authoritative figure the kid trusts the most."

Silence resumed between the two, both of them filling the quietness of the environment by continuing their meal. Finally, McCoy mumbled to himself. "Had to take care of you anyway."

Spock carefully set his fork down before half-glaring at McCoy. "I do not require supervision like a child."

McCoy glared right back. "Oh, I have no intention of mother-henning you, Spock, so fear not on that score." He pointed at the Vulcan with his own fork, an unusually long green bean stuck on the tines. "The extent of that was helping you with that hangover you had this morning, because I wasn't quite sure what the hell to expect from a hungover half-Vulcan. But if you would have rather I'd just let you deal with it on your own, then—"

"No," interrupted Spock. "I am grateful for your assistance."

McCoy shoved the green bean in his mouth and chomped on it viciously. Spock watched the human eat for a moment before he began to push food around his dishes absently, trying to find a topic that wouldn't send McCoy into a verbal rampage. But there was only one topic that the Vulcan could think to discuss with him. "The Captain has not been home for an extended length of time."

Several things came to the doctor's mind at that statement. He fleetingly thought he could accuse Spock of having an unusual fixation on Jim Kirk lately, but he didn't feel like having a pissed off Spock on his hands while he was alone. The thought of Jim being strangled nearly to death on the bridge of the Enterprise came to mind. No, best to leave that be. He then thought he could help Jim out and try to get on Spock's case about his refusal to use the name 'Jim' instead of 'the captain' or 'Captain Kirk.' Then, he didn't want to deal with the potential situation of Spock going off on an emotional tirade about how it is considered too intimate to use someone's given name when he worked with him on a daily basis, or if he thought that if he started to call him 'Jim' he was afraid he'd slip up on duty which would then cause a breakdown in the chain of command and end up with a serious lack of professionalism on the ship. McCoy sometimes wondered if Spock just had a bizarre phobia of the name 'Jim.' He just didn't know. Let Jim handle the issue on Spock using his first name. It was his name after all.

"You know, he might live here when he's not on the ship, but…" McCoy purposefully looked around the living space of the apartment. "But this place isn't home to him yet." Spock tilted his head, expressing some interest or curiosity about what he'd just said. "I think the closest thing he's got is his ship." McCoy reached for his drink distractedly. "Hell, I might even be home to the kid. I don't know."

Spock was definitely curious. He craved more information about his captain. "Does he not have other family members still living? I had thought his place of origin was Iowa."

McCoy actually looked disturbed by Spock's recitation of what he was sure was Jim's public file. "He grew up there, yeah, but it wasn't really home. I mean when I met him on that shuttle he looked like he didn't belong. And I don't mean on that shuttle, now, I mean something else. There was something different about him. Like he was the alien of Iowa or something. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Spock had only latched onto one thing the man said. "Are you trying to say that the native people of Riverside, Iowa considered him to be a pariah?"

McCoy nodded. "It sure seemed that way."

Spock seemed to study his now empty plate. "He was rejected by those in his native society." He nodded, but to McCoy it seemed as though the gesture was for himself. "It is possible to use this claim to support the common belief that he is rebellious to the level one could consider disruptive."

"Or so the higher ups in Fleet would say, I'll bet." It was the doctor's turn to study. "You stated that instead of asked it. Care to share?"

Spock looked up at him. "I would not."

"Alright." The man filed the information away in his mind, knowing it would be coming up again at some point. "I don't think rebellious or disruptive, really, would be the right words to describe Jim. It seemed to me that he was running from something, maybe even someone for most of his life, which may make people call him rebellious and disruptive, as you put it. Now, he was running from only a few possible things." He saw the curious look in Spock's eyes. "You sure we want to get into this?"

"I would appreciate the discussion."

McCoy smiled to himself. 'In other words,' he thought to himself, 'the hobgoblin actually wants to get to know James T. Kirk a little better.' He decided to test a theory. "You know you could always ask Jim about this."

Spock shook his head irritably. "I do not believe that the captain would be forthcoming with information of such a personal nature."

"So you think I'm the person to go to?"

"You are his closest acquaintance."

"Human beings say 'friend,' Spock!"

Spock tilted his head just so, silently daring McCoy to refuse to continue this conversation. "And it was you who began this discussion. It would be discourteous to leave it incomplete."

McCoy accepted the challenge. "Well, I guess we have to have this talk if I don't want you calling me discourteous to everyone, don't we?" Spock realized the question was rhetorical when the human continued speaking before he could reply. "Unlike you, Spock, Jim never really had a true home. Sure where his father was dead, his mama was still alive, but she wasn't exactly all there if you know what I mean. He came from what's known as a broken home. Not broken because his father went and died the day he was born. But broken because his stand-in daddy wasn't exactly the sweetest man on the planet."

Spock's attention was wholeheartedly on McCoy.

"Now, from what I know of your early life, I have to conclude that your parents—" McCoy saw the flinch. "—loved each other, otherwise I can't imagine a human woman would put up with your father. He had to have shown her that he cared about her or she wouldn't have stuck around like she did. Also, your father wouldn't have been shaken by her death if he didn't care about her."

"We are not discussing my family. You are telling me about Captain Kirk's life. My own is one I know quite well!" Spock glared fiercely at McCoy, who was surprised at himself for not being intimidated by it.

"I'll get to why in a minute." He sighed and let the Vulcan control himself before he kept going. "Let me try something different. What is home for you, Spock? Somewhere or someone with whom you felt completely comfortable."

"I repeat we are discussing Captain Kirk not myself."

McCoy huffed. "Just answer the damn question, Spock!"

Spock did not exactly sigh. When he spoke, it was a whisper. "With my mother."

"Okay." Then, he got to business. "Jim never even had that. His mother wasn't always there for him. Most of the time she looked at him and saw her dead husband. Other times she physically wasn't there. She was still working for Starfleet, you know, which was great for her, but was rough on her kids."

Spock was disturbed by this. "The captain has siblings?"

"Just the one. An older brother." McCoy shook his head, wondering if there would be any more surprises he had for the Vulcan. "Anyway, she moved in with this guy, mainly to have someone who could watch her boys when she was off exploring the universe. Let's just say he wasn't the most paternal of men. He didn't have much patience for kids, and after Jim pulled that thing with the car—"

"What is the incident to which to refer? I have not heard of this."

McCoy's answer was quick. "He drove it off a cliff, but saved his own ass and jumped out at the last second." He sighed. "Things got bad for him after that. His stepfather sent him off to T—" He caught himself, and tried to recover, hoping Spock wouldn't notice the near slip. "To an Offworld School for Troubled Youths, mainly the reckless ones. After that he was never the same."

"Am I to understand that the program was successful? It began him on his path to his captaincy?"

McCoy was suddenly uncomfortable in this line of discussion. He knew more than even some of the higher officials in Starfleet about James T. Kirk's life story. Should he be sharing this with Spock? No. This was _not_ his story to tell. "Kind of. But he was restless, and angry, and a little reckless for a lot of his life. Until he met then Captain Pike of Starfleet."

Spock thought about McCoy's narrative for a moment. "Is this why the admiral possesses such an interest in him? Because he was the man who recruited him?"

McCoy shook his head. "It's a little more personal than that."

Spock thought about it. Why would the relationship between Admiral Pike and Captain Kirk be considered personal? He remembered a hasty exchange between the two men aboard the Enterprise, in the Sickbay as they were returning to Earth and the Narada had been destroyed within the red matter.

_Spock had come to Sickbay intending to update Captain Pike on the condition of the ship, its crew, and the refugee Vulcan survivors, when he was brought up short in the entranceway. The so-called Captain Kirk had arrived before he could. He took a step backward to conceal himself from the two men. But he could hear them. _

"_You look exhausted." _

_Kirk laughed through his nose tiredly. "You should talk…sir." _

_Pike groaned. "None of that 'sir,' Kirk. Not right now. I don't have the energy for protocol." _

"_Okay." _

"_How are you holding up?" _

_The reply was delayed. "Okay, I guess. You know, when Bones kind of smuggled me on this ship I didn't expect to end up as the captain." _

"_I did." _

"_Sir?" _

_It seemed Pike ignored the title that time. "I knew as soon as you burst onto my bridge what you were going to say. I saw it in your face. And when you started to tell me about the Romulan ship, and that it was similar to – if not the same – ship that killed your father, I knew what was going to happen, and what to do with you." _

"_Why did you promote me? I wasn't even supposed to be here." _

"_Because you knew the original story. If anyone could help Spock not make the same moves as Captain Robau and not doom everyone to the same fate as your father and everyone aboard the USS Kelvin, it would be you. Because no one was affected by that as much as you were. You were the only choice I could've made."_

_Kirk took several deep breaths. "So, um…I managed to get higher than eight-hundred, you know." _

_The resulting chuckle from the injured older man surprised Spock, even though he wasn't sure what could possibly be funny. He did not understand Terran humor. "Jim, I stopped comparing you to your father after your third week at the Academy." _

"_I know," said Kirk, quietly. "I just want to know how I did in your opinion." _

_Pike just breathed for a long time, as though he were deep in thought, remembering the different accounts of what had happened while he was held captive. When he finally spoke, he spoke with deliberate care. "You did just fine, son." _

_Spock thought the moment had come for his arrival in Sickbay. It sounded like their conversation was close enough to its conclusion that his appearance would not disrupt it. It was only much later that he realized that Kirk did not correct Pike. _

Suddenly, what McCoy had mentioned earlier in their conversation meant so much more. "The admiral views the captain with paternal interest."

"And the reverse is true for Jim. It took him a while to accept that from Pike, but he did. You see, Spock, when he was growing up, everyone around him expected him to be just like them. And when he wasn't, well, that wasn't something they could accept, and they pushed him out. Coming to Starfleet wasn't much better. Everyone knew the name George Kirk. He had a lot to live up to. You had to have heard the talk about 'George Kirk's son,' and things like that. Some people only knew him as that. No one really saw him as his own man, just as Jim Kirk." McCoy smiled to himself. "He once told me that he knew I saw him as himself from when I met him on that shuttle. Guess that's why we're so close. He actually had to tell me the whole story about his father, cause I sure didn't know it."

Suddenly, Spock's expression changed. He was obviously no longer thinking about Kirk, but something else. McCoy was aware of some things to do with Spock's past before he came to Starfleet, but not enough. He almost didn't even want to try. "The only other person who saw him as his own man turned out to be Christopher Pike." McCoy saw a tiny shift in Spock's facial muscles. "I think Pike's good at that, don't you?"

There it was, the reaction of recognition on Spock's typically expressionless face. McCoy knew exactly what the Vulcan was thinking at that moment. He'd heard some of the Vulcan survivors talking in whispers about Spock on the ship, too. He had an idea of what the Human-Vulcan hybrid's youth must have been like if what those refugees had quietly said about him had any lick of truth to it. He nodded to Spock. "See? You and Jim are more alike than you thought, aren't you?"

In most discussions or debates with Spock, McCoy would relish and bask in his victory. It wasn't often that he came out of their verbal sparring as the victor, so when he did he thought it was something worth mildly gloating about. But, for some reason, he didn't even want to this time. He stood from his chair quietly, knowing that Spock was still thinking about his last sentence deeply. The Vulcan probably didn't even notice that he'd gotten up.

That is, until McCoy made a little noise when he picked up his plate, bowl and utensils. Spock's gaze darted up to his and he was halfway to his feet when McCoy stopped him with a shake of his head. "Relax, Spock. I got the dishes this time."

McCoy waited until he had all of their dishes at the sink before he turned to face Spock again. Just to watch him. Spock had not moved from his seat at the table. He was staring straight ahead as though he were completely stunned by the revelations brought about by their dinner discussion. McCoy suddenly wondered if he'd said too much.

**End Note:** _Hope everyone enjoyed. There is much more to come with this series. Leave a review on your way out. Keep flames to yourself. Thank you for reading! _

_Again, I apologize for the shamefully slow update pace. Hope it was worth the wait. Thanks! ~ RK _


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